On the Twelfth Hour of Christmas
by Madame Wolf
Summary: Twelve hours later, Remus and Ginny are in jail. They reflect on the twists of fate that saw them leave the Path of Christmas Adventure and take up the Trail of Minor Crimes. Please don't take this too seriously and trust that I know what I'm doing.
1. Hour One

**Disclaimer: **"Harry Potter" and all characters belong to other people. I'm not making any profit from this story other than warm, squidgy feelings, and everyone knows you can't pay the bills with warm, squidgy feelings.

**On the Twelfth Hour of Christmas...** _  
(Hour 1)_

The jail cell was not exactly _awful_ – the nice policewoman had offered them both tea, which they had accepted eagerly, fingers wrapping around warm ceramic and noses plunged into the steam – but it was not where either had wanted to be on Christmas Eve. Ginny was pouring over her notes now, with her mug perched on one knee and a pad of paper on the other. Remus peered over and blinked, not able to decipher her scrawl, especially upside down.

He had thought her completely absorbed in the scribble until she said, "How had you planned to spend Christmas Eve anyway, Remus?'

The man jumped in surprise, making hot tea splash on to his lap. Dabbing ineffectually with a handkerchief, he said, "Oh, I suppose I would have wrapped myself up in a blanket and a book – most probably A Christmas Carol – and fallen asleep by the fire."

Ginny made a sound and drew a line with her scratchy ballpoint pen. "So really, you can't blame me for ruining your Christmas Eve since you were going to waste it anyway."

"I was not going to 'waste' it!"

"You were going to sit by the fire, probably with a glass of _brandy_, and sleep until Christmas morning. That's wasting Christmas Eve. I gave you the chance for a Christmas Adventure."

"We're in _jail_."

Ginny gave up on her papers, and shoved them back into her jacket, to the crinkling protests of the sheets. "Cheer up! At least I'm your cellmate and not that rather frightful looking Mr. Bingles, who looked at you like he was eyeing up a steak."

"Ginny, that's not helping."

"Drink your tea."

Remus let the mug swallow his grumbles, but moments later had opened his mouth to complain some more.

Ginny sighed in an exasperated manner. "I'm sure Bill will be down soon to spring us, so in the mean time, try to get some sleep. Or, just try not to excite Mr. Bingles."

**12:00PM **

_Twelve hours prior to the arrest_

Ginny's finger hovered over the typewriter which, much like the hand of God, was about to decide fate. The fate in this instance was not of much importance (though Ginny herself would argue until blue that it _was_ important and that you should maybe shut up), but was still one that had caused her angst. To use a colon, or not? Grammatically, it was superfluous – incorrect, even. However, the stylistic needs of the piece just screamed "colon". With a sharp, jabbing movement, she pressed down the key and sighed, satisfied.

It was Christmas Eve, and, through the many layers of purloined clothing, Ginny was cold. Her Writing Room was perched atop the Victorian house she called home, much like a crotchety old lady's hat, or a hawk with one leg. Being a writer, she had decided one day (in an unbalanced mood) meant suffering for her art. Consequently, she had not installed heating, so as to create the proper environment. Now it just meant she was bloody freezing.

Rubbing her eyes, Ginny turned away from the typewriter to look at her plastic, white Muggle phone. It was supposed to be ringing. Remus had left several messages with increasing urgency about the state of their co-authored book, none of which she had bothered to respond to. And yet, there had been no messages today, no plaintive ringing from the moulded plastic. How peculiar!

Just as she was about to pick up the phone to see if her phone line was still intact and had not been cut by intrepid kidnappers, her doorbell sounded. Thinking it was very strange for anyone to be visiting her at all – especially since so few actually knew her address – Ginny wrapped her scarf once more around her neck and walked down the two flights of stairs. There was an impatient air to the front door, as if the person behind it was projecting their emotions through wood and stained glass. Bracing herself for a desperate salesman with knives, she opened the door.

Standing there in the lazy snow was Remus Lupin. Under one arm was tucked the battered briefcase, faded lettering glinting wearily in the snowy light. The other arm was holding a newspaper above his head to stop the falling snow landing in his hair, but it only served to make the paper soggy and the picture of Harry pout.

"Ah, Ginny! I wasn't sure if you were home!" He glanced at her nervously. "I wasn't sure if you were _alive_, actually. Not after all those missed calls. Have you been getting them? The calls, I mean."

"Yes, Remus. I've been getting the calls. Now, come in before you're frozen solid and I have to get the bloke next door to scrape you off the step." She took a hold of his forearm and dragged him inside, closing the door afterwards.

If Ginny's Writing Room was a meat locker, her parlour was a balmy beach resort. Remus allowed her to deprive him of his coat, newspaper and, after a brief scuffle, his briefcase. As they were damp from snow, she placed them near the open window to let them dry out, and to stop a musty smell infecting her house. "My word, do you have to have the temperature so high?" He asked, loosening the collar to his shirt.

"I like it hot down here. It's good for the constitution, this contrast of temperatures." Ginny put her hands on her hips and looked at him squarely. "Now what are you doing here, Remus? I thought we had a deal. I'd help you write your romantic novels, and you'd let me lead the life of an eccentric shut-in."

Remus was too polite to roll his eyes, though he secretly was not impressed with Ginny's lifestyle, nor how she tried to glamorise it. She had a way of speaking and acting that was flashy and impulsive, but had the habit of dying out quickly, like sparks from a burning branch. So, instead of rolling his eyes, he simply produced a handful of thick envelopes that he had retrieved from her mailbox. "Our editor is concerned."

"Oh." Said Ginny, accepting the letters reluctantly and sinking into the couch. She opened the topmost envelope and quickly skimmed the neatly typed missive. "You know, for an editor, he isn't very loquacious."

"I've made that observation myself."

After a few moments, Ginny appeared to gather all the information she needed from the letters and so she stuffed them into her jacket pockets and turned her attention back to Remus. "Well, I guess we'll just knuckle down and finish the book over the weekend. Did I tell you what I think should happen to Erin when she goes into the brothel with Yasmine? It's really going to --,"

"It's Christmas Eve, Ginny! I'm not going to spend it writing a cheesy romance novel."

She paused, hands frozen mid-air from their wild gesticulations, and then frowned. "Well, I was only offering! What do you think would be the best plan of action, then, Mr. Responsible?"

"That's Professor Responsible to you." Remus muttered with his arms crossed against his chest. He was a reasonable man; in fact, he was well known for his evenness and logic and common sense. And yet, Ginny could tap into that part of him that wanted to do irresponsible things like cramming for an exam, or eating a whole chocolate cake. "I guess we should write to Jerry – and that blank look you're giving me indicates you never noticed the return address on those letters – and tell him that we'll have the book done by the New Year."

Ginny shrugged languidly. "Okay. Sounds like a plan to me. You go get some paper and I'll start some tea. Should I call an ambulance in case you lapse into a diabetic coma?"

"I don't have my tea _that_ sweet, Ginny," Remus said wearily.

"I'll leave some insulin on the saucer, even if only for the worst-case-scenario."

Remus decided to leave it and looked for his briefcase, which, he knew, held a packet of loose leaf paper and half a dozen pens – not to mention the only draft for his side of the novel. He had seen Ginny put his items on a table near a window, but a cursory look yielded no results. Remus blinked and shook his head, moving closer to the only window with a table in the room and not believing his eyes until he touched the smooth wood rather than the soft leather of his briefcase.

"Ginny…!"

"Fine, I won't put any insulin on the saucer, but I don't want you passing out on my floorboards. I only just had them polished."

"Forget the insulin! I can't seem to find my briefcase! Please tell me you put it somewhere safe!"

Ginny reappeared with two cups of tea and a confused expression. "I put your stuff on the table near the window because they were soggy from the snow. Maybe they fell down?"

The two writers wandered out of her parlour, and around the side of the house. A quick reconnaissance of the area directly below Ginny's window proved to show only that the briefcase, coat and paper had not fallen as the snow had no indents in the shape of cheap clothing and battered luggage. There was, however, a set of tracks that looked promising and made Ginny feel rather excited at the prospect of solving a mystery.

"Can we please follow them, Remus?" She asked, giving him a pleading look full of big, brown eyes. "I've always wanted to have a mystery to solve, like I was one of the kids in the _Famous Five_. I get to be George. You can be Julian. Or Dick. Do you want to be Dick?"

"Ginny! There are slightly more pressing matters than who gets to pretend to be what fictional character from the 1940's! My draft was in my briefcase."

"Well! That was silly! Julian wouldn't have done that! You'll have to be Dick."

* * *

**Author's Note: **And so ends chapter one. There are twelve parts to this fic, and I will be updating it (hopefully) every day until Boxing Day (when I will, in fact, be on a plane to New Zealand). Please don't take Harry Potter too seriously and write me a review saying "Why aren't they doing magic, or in magical settingz?" because I've quite exhausted that avenue of fanfic and prefer to set my stories in a world closer to our own. They do magic, but only when they have to. Thank you to Hannah and Colette for being my super awesome ladiez.

Remember: A fanfic author isn't just for Christmas - they're for all year. (Plz can I have candy canes or reviews? Peppermint flavoured reviews? Mmm.)


	2. Hour Two

**On the Twelfth Hour of Christmas...**

_(Hour 2)_

The nice policewoman rapped on the bars of the cell, making Remus and Ginny look up. Beside the woman was Ron Weasley who had an expression of infinite smugness on his face as he wiggled his fingers in greeting. He grinned broadly at the caged pair. "You know, there's a sign out here saying 'Do Not Feed the Animals'."

Ginny approached the bars, leaving Remus to continue reading a battered and much-loved copy of _The Sun_; he had become absorbed in a story and had already endured teasing from his cellmate for even picking the newspaper up.

"Don't be a prat, Ron." Ginny said. "Why are you here? Where's Bill?"

"I'll give you five minutes." Said the nice policewoman to no one in particular, then walked back to her office with the fuzzy television and ball of knitting.

Ron tried his best not to look offended by his sister's reaction, but failed miserably. "It's Christmas Eve! Fleur wouldn't let him even _think_ about coming down here to bail you out. So he made me come, and if you ask me you aren't being very thankful and I might leave you here all night."

"All right, I apologise." Ginny said, letting out a puff of angry air. "I just want to go home at this stage, so if you can just go and pay the nice policewoman fifty pounds, I'll stop poking you." As she said this, Ginny started jabbing her index finger into his arm.

"Oh, bugger." Ron said eloquently, covering his face with his hand. "I forgot you were in a Muggle jail."

In a very quiet, menacing voice, Ginny asked: "What do you mean?"

"Look, stop that!" Ron took a step backwards, out of reach of her pokes. "I haven't got any Muggle money on me, so you're going to have to stay in here a bit longer."

"I don't believe this!"

"I'm going right now, okay?" Ron turned around and nearly bolted down the corridor.

"You're a terrible brother!" She called out to his quickly retreating back. "I'm going to write you into my next book and alligators are going to eat your legs off!"

"Ginny, I think he's gone." Remus said from behind the tabloid.

"It's not fair! I have at least three other brothers more reliable than Ron, and he's the one Bill chose to go in his stead?" Ginny sat down next to him and rested her chin in her hands glumly.

"In Bill's defence, Ron is the only brother you have that doesn't actually _have_ a life. Who else would be able to come down to a police station at almost midnight on Christmas Eve to bail out his sister and his former teacher?" Remus shook out the newspaper and folded it with more care than the trashy tabloid really deserved.

She sighed. "Okay, so you've managed to convince me to see the reasonable side of things, but I still maintain the right to have Ron's legs bitten off by rabid alligators in my next book."

Remus did not have an opportunity to ask if alligators, or even crocodiles for that matter, could _be_ rabid, as Ginny had retrieved her wad of paper and notes and was writing furiously once more.

**1:00PM**

_Eleven hours prior to the arrest_

Somehow Ginny had managed to persuade Remus into letting them follow the tracks leading away from her house rather than filing a report with the police station, a feat that even the woman herself was amazed over. Now wearing her aptly named "detective hat" which was a bit too big for her and kept sliding down over her eyes, Ginny crouched down by the footprints and examined them carefully with her wand as a magnifier.

"Ginny, might I be so bold as to ask why you are kneeling in the snow looking at footprints that are clearly leading towards your neighbour's property? I am all for attention to detail and meticulousness, but I am also quite anxious to get my draft back!" Remus was doing a little antsy dance, stamping his feet and fluttering his hands as if he needed to go to the bathroom. Ginny had to bite her tongue to stop from laughing when she looked up at him.

"If we do follow these tracks – and yes, we will be, calm down – I don't want to punch someone in the jaw only to notice that they're wearing topboots rather than steel capped Doc Martens."

"Did you just call a pair of Wellington boots 'topboots'?"

Ginny raised a hand to shield the bleary glare of the sun as she looked at Remus. "Yes?"

He shrugged, amused. "I've never heard anyone outside of the older Irish crowd call them that."

"I'm not old, and I'm not Irish, now can we please focus on these footprints?" Ginny turned back to her task. "I suspect we may be looking for a pair of snow boots. _Fluffy_ snow boots." She pulled out a plastic zip-lock bag from her voluminous jacket pocket and carefully placed in it the artificial lock of hair found crushed within the footprint. "I also suspect that the shoes were too big for the person – look at how the prints drag slightly, as if they can't lift the shoes easily."

Remus, having been well and truly silenced by Ginny's detective work, blinked and said: "Well, I'm impressed, Miss Weasley."

She flashed him a brilliant smile and jumped back to her feet. "Right! Time to pay my neighbour a visit, I think."

Ginny's next-door-neighbour, Mrs. Griggs, was an elderly woman who, instead of turning into a grandmotherly figure, had instead turned more into a wicked witch (though not at all like the wicked witch Ginny was on weekends with boyfriends). She had been spying on Miss Weasley's exploits ever since she moved into the street, and had been quite disappointed over the lack of lascivious adventures she seemed to have near open windows. As the pair approached her yard, Mrs. Griggs drew herself to her full, five-foot glory, and crossed her cardigan-clad arms across her chest.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Griggs!" Ginny said cheerfully, pushing up the brim of her hat so she could see where she was throwing her greetings.

"Nothing good about it, Miss Weasley. Those rotten Swindle boys have been traipsing through my yard like it's a thoroughfare!" Her eyes got squinty as suspicion crept into her mind. "You're not going to use my fence as a shortcut, are you?"

"No, Mrs. Griggs." She replied in a tired voice, hiding behind a thin veil of sincerity. "We were wondering if you had seen anyone near my window, maybe carrying a briefcase?"

Mrs. Griggs sniffed, offended. "I don't know why I would know anything about that. I mind my own business, thankyouverymuch." After a moment, she slyly added, "But I wouldn't be surprised if those nasty Swindle boys have been near your house. They've got sticky fingers, they do. Destructive, too. I got a set of Gnomes of the World from my sister, Flo – it was an early Christmas gift; she's going down South for Christmas Day, you see. Those Swindle Boys came over the very next day and knocked them all over. My lovely Mexican gnome has a crack going straight down from his sombrero to his little dirty feet."

Ginny was the first to recover from the stunned silence that had claimed them both. "Oh. Well, thank you, Mrs. Griggs. I'm sure a little bit of superglue will fix Senor Gnome as good as new." She tugged at Remus' sleeve, urging him to move his feet so they could get away from the old lady before she talked about her many cats. "We'll go pay the Swindles a visit."

"Good-bye, Miss Weasley. Make sure you let them know I won't forget about this little incident." The woman opened her door and walked back into her house, but not before the words, "little bastards" reached their ears.

The Swindle property was out of place in the street, where the uniform style and pride in appearance of the other houses made the run-down, single-storey home look ragged and like it was depreciating the value of the other residences. Remus, being someone who had taken classes in self-preservation, cleared his throat as they stepped over the remains of an oil drum left on the lawn, and said, "Er, do you think this is such a good idea?"

Ginny frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

He surveyed the house they were walking towards, taking in the carcass of a vehicle that was rotting and rusting in a very unsettling way. In his mind, he pictured a tattooed man with bulging muscles snapping him, the mild-mannered professor-slash-writer, over a knee and then grabbing Ginny in a meaty hand and pulling her into his lair for his own, vile enjoyment. The woman herself watched amusedly as the bevy of emotions crossed over Remus' face. "Well!" He blushed as he ushered out thoughts of Ginny, vulnerable and completely at his – er, the tattooed man's – mercy. "What sort of people live in a house like this? I can't imagine they would be the most genteel of folk. Will there be a rather angry man living there, for instance?"

Ginny stifled a laugh. "Er, last time I bumped into them, it was just a single mother and her two – admittedly, devil spawned – boys."

Remus looked deflated. "Oh."

"Come on." She recommenced walking towards the door. On the ratty welcome mat, there was a pair of snow boots, covered in shaggy, artificial fur. Ginny pulled out her evidence in the zip-lock bag and matched it satisfactorily with the shoes. "And look," she pointed to the fresh snow covering the toes of the boots, "someone has worn them recently."

She knocked on the door and, after a few moments of rustling and muttering, it opened, revealing the infamous Swindle boys. They looked far too sullen for their eight and ten years, and greeted Ginny and Remus with a surly "Yes?"

"Peter. Jack. I was wondering if your mum was home." Ginny said in her excited, hey-let's-be-enthusiastic-kids! voice.

"Nup." Said Peter.

"She's at work." Added Jack.

"Oh, that's okay then. I really wanted to talk to you." A quick calculation of the contents of her pockets came up with £20 and half a packet of mints, which could be used as a bribe. Alternatively, she could always threaten the boys with delicious violence. "My associate, Professor R.J Lupin, left his briefcase on an occasional table near a window in my home." Her voice grew cold. "Unfortunately, some unscrupulous characters in this neighbourhood have seen fit to _steal_ his property." Here, she leant forward so she was at eye level with the boys, both of whom were looking nervous and not surprisingly, guilty. "Do you know what they do to little boys who steal things?"

The boys shook their heads quickly.

"They cut them up and put them in Christmas pudding."

"It was Pete's idea!" Jack suddenly cried, fingers flying to his mouth. "He said that you wouldn't mind 'cause you're so rich!"

"You tosser!" Peter exclaimed. "I didn't say she was rich – I said she was a _witch_." The older boy turned back to Ginny. "We took the briefcase b'cause Old Rodney said he was on the lookout for anythin' we was willing to sell. We didn't think you'd miss it, an' we wanted to buy mum a present."

Ginny sighed wearily. "Well, there's nothing for it now. Old Rodney is the pawn shop a few streets over, right?"

"They sold my briefcase to some pawnbroker?!"

"Don't be hysterical, Remus." She leant forward again. "Now, don't be stealing from me again, you hear me?"

"Yes ma'am." The boys said in unison.

"And next time you knock over one of Mrs. Griggs' gnomes, finish the job, won't you?"

* * *

**Author's Note: **And so ends chapter two. I might call it quits after this. I have more chapters, but it's obvious that no one is interested. I'm too tired and depressed to continue throwing stuff out here. It's an exercise in futility if ever I saw one. Thank you to the multitude of people who acknowledged the fact they're reading this. Oh snap, no one did! Maybe I should write some radical political commentary since no one is reading this. Espouse some crazy conspiracy theories. Maybe I need a nap. 


	3. Hour Three

**On the Twelfth Hour of Christmas...** _  
(Hour 3)_

"I think you're deliberately aiming them for my face."

"Maybe your face is deliberately in the way of my projectiles?"

Ginny had come to the conclusion that jail, as a whole, was boring. She was currently rolling up bits of rubbish found in her jacket pockets and throwing them at her cellmate, Remus Lupin. _He_ was trying to ignore the balls of lolly wrappers and receipts that were hitting him on the nose and was looking through the piles of half-insane notes Ginny had made for their co-authored romantic novel. So far, he had worked out that there were aliens involved, but aliens with 'really big knockers'.

"Ginny, I don't know how any of these bits and pieces fit into our story!" Remus declared, handing back her notes with an aghast look on his face. "Aliens? I wanted to do a turn-of-the-century romantic novel with strong female characters who defy the social oppression of their time."

She screwed up her nose. "That's boring! I know our last book was a best seller and it was all about darning socks and ripped bodices, but we don't want to be pigeon-holed!"

"I'm quite fond of pigeons, personally." Remus said quietly, making Ginny lose her argument in a puff of self-important smoke.

"Wh-what?"

"Pigeons. They're nice. Soothing. I had a tape of pigeon sounds once; it was to help me get to sleep." Remus leant back against the wall, arms folded behind his head acting as a cushion.

Curiosity itched at Ginny, so she asked: "Did it help at all?"

"Oh, heavens no. I kept thinking my flat was infested with birds."

**2:00PM**

_Ten hours prior to the arrest_

Having been exposed to new areas of Ginny's neighbourhood, Remus was beginning to feel slightly worried for his younger companion's safety. It seemed that every corner held a prostitute in varying states of Christmas decoration, and an increasing number of dodgy houses. Ginny herself cheerfully pointed out the crack-dens and brothels as they walked to Old Rodney's, which did not at all allay his fears.

"Aren't you nervous about living in a place like this?" Remus asked finally after they had walked around a passed-out drunk littering the pavement.

Ginny shrugged, her shoulders lost under her immense jacket. "Not particularly. I have a wand and half a dozen brothers. Not to mention the fact they all think I'm a witch."

"What?!" Remus almost squawked, making the man on the ground groan and rustle his newspaper blanket threateningly. "And the Ministry hasn't paid you a visit yet?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course they haven't. Why would they bother? It's just a harmless urban legend. I haven't done any magic in front of the Muggles – I'm not touched in the head. I can't help it if a few gullible people see a broom, a floppy gardening hat and that black stray hanging around and come up with crazy theories."

"It's dangerous. It's all jokes now," Remus put on a croaky, high-pitched voice, imitating a woman poorly, "'Oh, that house has a witch in it. Newt toes and frog lips! I wonder if she can make my Edgar more virile in bed.'" His tone grew darker. "But then one day they'll be knocking politely on your door, carrying pitchforks and flaming torches."

Ginny grinned at him. "You'd make a good woman."

"Well, I've warned you."

Remus had no time for further prophetic messages, as they had reached the pawnshop. The sign proclaimed that Old Rodney bought and sold used items and lent money, all with friendly service and minimal amounts of identification needed. The front window appeared to have been broken recently, and was boarded up with a liberal amount of cardboard and duct tape. Someone – presumably the notorious Old Rodney – had written on the improvised window in marker pen the dates when the shop would be closed over the holiday season, as well as a few racial slurs for good measure. Fortunately, Old Rodney was open on Christmas Eve.

Remus' hand went to his pocket, where he kept his Self-Preservation Whistle, given in the classes he had taken, and his fingers curled around the noisemaker comfortingly. Ginny seemed unaffected by the promised violence on the cardboard and pushed open the door, making a pathetic bell tinkle dutifully. "Rodney? Are you in?"

A voice floated through the poorly lit shop in reply. "'Course I am, Ginny-dear! S'Christmas Eve an' what kind of pawnbroker would I be if I closed on the most profitable day o' the year?"

"A not very good one?" Remus offered quietly.

"Quite right, quite right." The voice grew closer, and Remus could feel his heart pounding away at his chest, spinning adrenalin to his limbs. This is ridiculous, he thought, furious that he would let some sleazy loanshark get the better of him. Taking a steadying breath, he forced himself to calm down and think clearly. The worst that could happen was that Old Rodney would rush them, and if that happened, Remus would have a hex out before the bastard could touch Ginny. Or, for that matter, himself. "Now what brings you, my peach, to Old Rodney's?"

The man had stepped forward into the illumination of a solitary hanging globe, and Remus felt doubly embarrassed for his reaction. Old Rodney's bowler hat could barely pass Remus' waist – and that was without him using the walker frame by his side. Ginny rushed to sweep Rodney up in a friendly hug. "My friend, Remus, he had his briefcase stolen by those awful Swindle boys and it had a rather important document in it. They said you bought it off them."

Old Rodney's face crinkled into an expression of sorrow. "M'sorry, Ginny love. I just sold it, contents and all."

Remus bit his tongue to stop from making a sound of frustration. Would he ever get his briefcase back, or would he have to continue the wild goose chase until Christmas Day? Ginny was more diplomatic than Remus' thoughts, and instead of smashing objects against a wall, she patted Rodney on the shoulder. "It's okay, Rodney. We appreciate you telling us this." She paused, then looked at Remus, who was trying very hard to keep calm and not panic. "D-do you think you could tell us what the buyer looked like? Or where they were headed?"

The old man cheered up considerably, and quickly dashed behind the counter once more, rummaging in mountains of paperwork. "You're in luck, my dear, my peach. If I were a respectable pawnbroker you would've had to use your girlish charms to make me break the confidentiality 't'ween buyer n' seller." Ginny and Remus looked at each other, neither being aware that there _were_ respectable pawnbrokers who upheld some sort of code. "However, I'm a rotten, corrupt pawnbroker and can tell you with _glee_ that it was a Ms. Janine Gough who purchased your most beloved briefcase."

"Oh, that's wonderful, Rodney!" Ginny gushed, smiling brightly. "Do you know where she lives?"

"'Fraid not, love. She did happen to mention going to a party this afternoon. A work do, I believe. She wouldn't shut up about it, actually. Oh, excuse my manners, my dear." Old Rodney looked down as the papers once more, and made a cry of delight. "An' here is her business card. My, I do say. You are the luckiest pair I've ever met in all my years."

Remus would have had a thing or two to say about "luck", considering he was trying to track down a stolen briefcase after all, but Ginny had leapt upon the old man once again to shower him in affection, and was dragging Remus, along with the card, outside.

"Look! I know this address. It's across town. This is great. Let's catch a taxi."

"Are you allergic to magic or something?" Remus asked crossly as she started waving her arms about to catch the attention of drivers.

"Of course not. I just like doing things the Muggle way. It's quaint. Challenging. If we did things the wizarding way, our Christmas adventure would be over before it began."

"Christmas adventure? We're finding my briefcase. It's hardly _It's a Fantastic Life_."

"_It's a Wonderful Life_, you mean." Her flailing had paid off, as a bright yellow car had pulled over to the curb, the driver waiting impatiently for them to get in.

"At the moment I think it's neither, quite honestly." Remus grumbled as he opened the door for Ginny.

She gave him a strange look, but entered the car, arranging herself in the disturbingly damp backseat. Remus sat down next to her, examining the seatbelts with fascination, but allowed Ginny to reach across and do the buckle, since he appeared to be new to Muggle safety. She handed the business card over to the driver and he pulled away from the curb, being absorbed by the steady flow of Christmas traffic.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thank you to people who actually reviewed. I'm sorry I was all cranky yesterday, but I didn't have a very good day and I'd had something like six reviews for the last four things I've uploaded which isn't a great turn out. But I appreciate the two reviews I did receive and it is for that pair that this chapter is uploaded at all. 


	4. Hour Four

**On the Twelfth Hour of Christmas…**

_(Hour 4)_

Ginny was concentrating very hard on fishing something out of her jacket. Her brow her furrowed and she was worrying her lip between her teeth. Remus was watching this with rapt attention, sure she would bring out something amazing (he had been spoilt for entertainment earlier when she produced an abridged copy of Shakespeare's plays from the left pocket of her jacket). Finally, she twisted her arm deeper into the cavernous compartment and extracted two smooshed pieces of chocolate cake.

"Want some?" She offered, separating the pink napkins from each other.

"Er. Might I ask how _old_ that cake is?" Remus gingerly accepted his slice, keeping it at a distance from his body as if the old-germs could leap across and attack him.

"Oh, I stole it from the party. Some woman named Betty came up to me and started saying how much I had inspired her over the year, and how she thought she might be in love with me. She asked if there was anything she could do to make me return those feelings and I suggested cake. And here we are."

"So it would seem." Remus replied, cautiously trying a piece of the icing and deciding that smooshed jacket-cake wasn't as bad as it appeared at first glance.

"I liked Betty. She had moxie. I think Betty and Old Rodney ought to open a B&B together on the coast. Old Rodney would steal from the patrons, and Betty could provide the Continental Breakfast."

"Sounds like every other bed and breakfast _I've_ ever been to." He agreed.

"I wonder if we'll get breakfast in here. You know, if Ron doesn't come back." Ginny laid down on the bench, lying on her stomach with her cake in front of her. She could see down the corridor leading towards the guard's office, where the flickering of an ancient television made the light on the floor waver. Her brother's visit, and the call to another brother before that, seemed far away now.

"I don't know, Ginny. I've never been in jail before."

She turned to look at him, mouth hanging open in shock. "Never?! I thought you had lived an exciting life, Remus!"

"I'm afraid you were mistaken. I like living life by the rules. Er, generally speaking, of course." Ginny supposed that old friends who were also sort of convicted murderers had a different set of rules entirely. That seemed fair to her.

She was quiet, drawing lines in the dark icing with her finger. After a few moments, she began again. "Do you think they'll give us a menu to order from? Or will it be a set breakfast?"

**3:00PM**

_Nine hours prior to the arrest_

The traffic had been as thick as treacle, trickling past at an agonisingly slow pace that made Ginny itchy and Remus nervous. She had attempted to start up the alphabet game, ("On the way to a Christmas Party I saw…An Antiquated Antelope!" "You did not see an 'Antiquated Antelope', Ginny. That's barely even a _moose_.") but had met stern opposition. The taxi driver did not answer any of her questions regarding soaring petrol prices and having to charge larger people more. Defeated, she slumped back against the cotton fabric seat.

"Here's your stop." The driver said, indicating a tall, shiny building with lots of shimmering glass. "That'll be ten quid."

Ginny handed over the money and carefully counted back her change before they exited the vehicle. Remus did not appear entirely enthused at the thought of gatecrashing a work party, especially when the party was being held in a rather important looking office building. Ginny, however, had no qualms about it. "We'll duck into a bathroom and transfigure our clothes so we don't look like refugees from a jumble sale, would that make you feel better?"

"Slightly…" he pouted, but allowed himself to be guided into an empty bathroom. Even the restroom facilities were pretentious, with a marble floor and exquisite fountain in the middle of the room with a dozen carved mermaids frolicking in the splashing water.

"Ugh, that's so kitsch." Ginny said, referring to the fountain. She transfigured her detective hat into a slinky black dress, made of the same silk the fedora had been constructed of previously. Remus had a feeling that it would cling to every curve of her body like a drowning man. Was _he_ drowning? "I'll go get changed. Wear something nice – a charcoal suit would look great on you."

Remus took off his coat and tried his best at transfiguring. Only, he hadn't transfigured anything in a while, and had never had any natural talent for it – not like Sirius and James – so the end result was a little wonky. The hem of the jacket was frayed in places, and the trousers had one leg longer than the other, but all in all, it would do. Ginny reappeared wearing the dress (or maybe the dress was wearing her, now that he thought about it), and told him to put his spare clothes in her jacket pockets.

"Will they get creased?" he asked worriedly.

"You've got a magic bloody wand there, Remus. Be a man about these things!" Ginny scolded him as she none too carefully pushed the outfit through the small opening. With a tricky manoeuvre, she fed the jacket into its own pocket, and it changed into an elegant evening bag. "I bought it off the Wizarding Shopping Network. Seven designs in one!"

"Handy!" Remus commented.

They walked out of the bathroom, Ginny's arm having snaked its way through his own. The secretary on duty was creating huge chains of paperclips, bored beyond belief at having to work on Christmas Eve when everyone was at the party. After gleaning the whereabouts of the function, and promising to bring back some spiked punch, Remus and Ginny walked down the hall to the boardroom.

Music was thumping through the walls, loud and insistent. Remus glanced about suspiciously, anxious that someone would see them and kick them out before they could even ask about his briefcase. As if sensing his trepidation, Ginny patted him on the arm. "It'll be fine, Remus. Just relax, and follow my lead." Together they walked into the party.

Although it was only half past three, it seemed that the many employees of Gough & Grant Associates had imbibed of the alcohol that was flowing freely from the bartender. The room was full of dishevelled lawyers dancing dirtily with their personal assistants, and balding businessmen laughing raucously with their companions. No one even looked up as they entered the room, though a few of the more drunk men leered openly at Ginny's dress. She did not bat an eyelash.

"We'll split up to look for her. I'll take the north side of the party, you take the south. We'll recon by the snack table in ten minutes. Ready?" Ginny asked him.

"Let's break."

* * *

Remus squinted through the haze of the party – the smoke machine having gone on the blink and filling the room with noxious gases – looking for a woman holding his briefcase. It was, admittedly, a rather foolish plan and one doomed to fail, but Remus did not want to bring undue attention to himself by going up to people and actually _talking_ to them. He had rather hoped that he would be able to sneak up to Janine Gough and politely tap her on the shoulder. "Excuse me, Ma'am," he would say in his clipped accent, "I believe you have something that belongs to me." An embarrassed laugh and an apology later, he would have his beloved briefcase back and would be able to continue writing the novel.

Unfortunately, there were no neon signs or arrows pointing towards the elusive Janine Grant, so Remus took a deep breath (choking on the fumes as he did so), adjusted his ill-fitting suit, and walked up the person closest. "Hello!"

"Professor Lupin?!"

He looked down and discovered that he had stumbled across Hermione Granger, who was (prior to his interrupting her) deeply engrossed in some novel. This, naturally, threw Remus quite out of joint and he dithered for a while, trying to explain what he was doing at a party that he clearly was not invited to. "…I-I'm after my briefcase, you see…"

Hermione, who had been nodding and trying to get a word in edgewise, finally stopped her erstwhile Professor and said, "Calm down, Remus. There isn't a sober person within fifteen metres of us. Why don't you sit down and tell me what's wrong."

Remus gratefully sat down in the empty chair next to Hermione, and said: "I've lost my briefcase – you remember, the one with the faded letters on it – and it had my only draft of a novel I've been writing with Miss Weasley. We finally tracked it down to a Ms. Janine Gough who is supposedly attending this party."

Hermione patted him on the arm. "Well, Janine is – _was_ – here, but I think she's gone off to buy some more fags. Her office is down the hall and has her nameplate on the door. Oh, let me draw you a map." She took the napkin from under her drink and, with the lid of the felt-tip pen between her teeth, drew a few squiggly lines directing Remus where to go.

"Thank you, Miss Granger. Er, would you mind telling me why _you_ are here?"

The woman beamed, and with a trace of her old boasting self, said, "_I'm_ a Wizarding Liaison Officer. Gough & Grant closed a big Wizarding deal this year, which they wouldn't have been able to do without me. It's nice to flex my legal skills once in a while."

"I'm sure it is. Anyway, if you will excuse me," Remus got to his feet, "I must go fetch my briefcase."

"Good luck!" Hermione called after him.

* * *

"So…I brought you the cake…"

Ginny looked up from her drink and saw that Betty was there again. "Oh, excellent. Thanks!" She took the cake from her and shoved the pieces into her evening bag, much to the bemusement of the other woman. Betty ran a hand through her tangled, mousy hair and licked her lips in a way that might have been seductive, in the right lighting and with a fuzzy lens. Ginny frowned, disconcerted. "Er, is there a reason you're still here?"

"I-I thought…" Betty looked distressed. "I got you cake!"

"So you did." Ginny patted her bag.

"Um. I have to go." She turned around and ran in the general direction of the ladies' room. Ginny thought that she might have heard a sob, but it might have been the music.

Someone tapped Ginny on the shoulder, making her yelp and turn around. "Oh, my God. Remus! You arse!" She punched him in the arm, making him wince. "I was scared out of my skin."

Massaging his upper-arm sullenly, Remus produced the map Hermione had drawn him. "Janine's office is down the hall. I suggest we, er, let ourselves in and see if my briefcase is in there."

"Ooh, law breaking. I like it!" She exclaimed, rubbing her hands together.

They set off down the hall with Ginny humming a suspenseful soundtrack until Remus told her to stop before he lost all his sanity. The door was locked, as they had assumed, but it was only a matter of a quick Alohomora charm before they were inside.

"I really feel sorry for Muggles sometimes." Ginny commented as the door swung open. "They're all 'Wow, this lock is completely burglar proof! I'm amazing!' and three seconds later a witch could come through and totally Alohomora that thing into next week."

"Makes you wonder why there are less Muggle bank robberies." Remus mused. "Right, let's start looking!"

The room was particularly large, but much of the wall space was given to huge windows that, had the blinds not been closed, would have allowed light to illuminate their search. Instead, they used magic once again, using their wands as flashlights in the dark. The desk in the centre of the office was heavy and made of some expensive-looking wood that neither Ginny nor Remus could accurately label. The deep drawers in the desk were locked as well, but another charm had them revealing their contents.

"Ooh! I found it!" Ginny cried, pulling open the largest drawer wider so she could withdraw the briefcase.

Remus rushed over and felt like he could almost have kissed Ginny. A moment later, he was, as the door was swung open and the light turned on and Ginny pressed her lips against his to disguise their illegal actions. "Ohmigod! I'm so sorry! I was looking for Janine but she's not here and you are and I'm going now…!" The poor young woman left as suddenly as she had entered, and Ginny released Remus from their kiss.

"Fantastic, you've got the briefcase! Let's get out of here." Ginny stood up and smoothed the creases out of her dress.

Remus blinked several times. "You kissed me."

"Yes, I did. Now, we've got to go." Ginny took the briefcase off him and forced it into her bag before helping Remus to his feet and leading him out the door. "Act casual." She hissed to the zombie-like Professor Lupin.

The party appeared to be dying down, with most employees passed out on the floor or engaging in some terrifying party game that looked more vicious than charades ought to. The pair slipped past unacknowledged, and revisited the bathroom for a costume change and to inspect the goods.

Dressed once more in her bulky jacket, Ginny retrieved the briefcase from her pocket and placed it on the edge of the basin. Remus had splashed water on his face and head, making his hair stand up in awkward and self-conscious spikes. "Want to do the honours?" She asked him, indicating the clips that held the briefcase closed.

He flipped them over with his thumbs and eagerly opened the hinges. It took a full minute for Remus to comprehend what was in the briefcase, and when he had, he sunk on to the highly polished marble floor.

"Oh." Said Ginny, peering over his shoulder. "Bollocks."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Yes, ohmigosh! A cliffhanger! Of sorts! Tune in tomorrow when we find out whether or not Ginny and Remus go home with the washer/dryer set, or what's in the briefcase! 


	5. Hour Five

**On the Twelfth Hour of Christmas…**

_(Hour 5)_

Remus had bounced the little rubber ball against the wall 978 times. He thought. As soon as doubt crept into his mind, he lost count and had to go back to one. Instead of beginning again, Remus decided to sulk a bit, and asked his cellmate, "So how did you meet 'Old Rodney'?"

Ginny looked up from painting her toenails, allowing the brush to drip hot pink nail polish onto the bench. "Oh. Old Rodney? He ran – well, runs – a charity for disabled children. I was walking along the street one day and he tried to wheedle 10p out of me, but I'm a hard sell. Haggling over a donation, we became fast friends."

"What about all those racial slurs I saw scribbled all over his window?"

"His nine year old step-son is a Neo-Nazi. All shaved head and swastikas. Very polite, though. You know, for a racist."

"Oh." Remus did not know what exactly to say after that revelation. Instead, he idly picked up the notepad and pen. "Maybe our romance novel could be about a Neo-Nazi and the woman who teaches him that underneath our black arm bands and concentration camp tattoos, we all bleed the same colour."

"That sounds bloody awful, Remus. I can't believe they let you even write novels. You should have your hands chopped off and sold to disabled children."

"Ooh! What about the ex-pirate who has two hooks for hands and falls in love with the surgeon attaching the robotic claws? Love in the time of scurvy and nanotechnology." Remus had already scratched the idea down, regardless of what Ginny might have said in response.

"I like that one." Ginny pointed her brush at Remus, making it rain pink droplets. "By day, he does artful hedge trimming with his hooks. By night, he scares high school kids at Make Out Point."

"Hmm. Titles. _Claws of Romance? The High Seas of Love and Medical Technology_?"

"Oh God. I'm going to die in here, aren't I?" Ginny began searching her pockets for some earplugs.

**4.00PM**

_Eight hours prior to the arrest_

"Oh, bugger." Remus said quietly, but sincerely. "There's a lot of money here."

"Lots of money." Ginny agreed. "Oodles of it."

He stood up and began pacing in a worried fashion. "What do we do? What do we do? We can't give it back because she'll know we went into her office."

Ginny was pulling out wads of notes and counting them loosely as she emptied out the briefcase. "Worst luck!" Remus looked over at her, knuckle between his teeth. "The draft isn't in here. It's just thousands and thousands of pounds." Ginny gestured towards the piles of cash she had made on the bathroom floor. "You know, with all this money, you could _buy_ a new draft."

"Not helping, Ginny. Oh God, I'm going to start hyperventilating."

The woman helped Remus sit down on the ledge of the fountain and had him breathe deliberately from his position between his knees. "Calm down, Remus. Look, it isn't all that bad. Ok, so we broke into someone's office and stole a whole lot of money. We didn't mean it. Well, we meant to break into their office, but we didn't intend to steal a fortune."

"What are we going to do?" Remus asked pathetically.

Ginny set her mouth into determined lines. "We're going to visit the little wizard who could."

* * *

The path leading towards the house was disturbingly clear of snow, as if there was a man with a shovel waiting around the corner, ready to pounce on the drive as soon as a moveable layer built up. It was a modest house, two storeys but compact, and the garden was home to an amazingly exotic array of plant life for both this part of England, and this time of year. Ginny particularly liked the Real-Life Snap Dragons that tried to unravel Remus' scarf.

As they rounded the corner, they almost bumped into Harry Potter, who was carrying a shovel with the deepest care, as if he were a Knight and that was his Excalibur. "My! If it isn't Ginny Weasley and Professor Remus Lupin!" He exclaimed, taking off his glasses so he could wipe the lenses. "Oh, don't mind the shovel – I was just heading off to clear the drive! Don't you find yourself a busy beaver during winter?"

"Uh. No?" Ginny offered, before giving Harry a warm hug. "We've got a problem, Harry. We need your help."

The man self-consciously patted down hair that had long ago given up on being unruly and had retired to the wearied cow-lick of early adult-hood. "Right. Well. Come inside, then. Luna was just preparing afternoon tea, and I suppose I can share my Jaffa cakes with you if it is an emergency."

There had been a sort of chemical reaction within Harry when he married Luna Lovegood. The bits of him that were boring seemed to be sucked to the surface by Luna's eccentricities, which were numerous and varied. So, he purchased himself some turtleneck jumpers, discovered a deep and abiding passion for gardening and hunkered himself down to a long and generally boring life.

The lounge room of his house reflected this, with magazine racks displaying his most recent gardening subscriptions, and knitted tartan cushions on the seats. Ginny sank into one of them, finding the cushion lumpy, and tried to tell herself that it was not moving. Remus found himself seated on the ottoman, next to Harry's rather worn slippers.

From the kitchen came Luna, smiling a distant smile and wiping her hands on her apron that said 'Abduct the Cook'. "Ginny. Professor Lupin. I knew you were coming around today."

"Oh, does that mean there'll be enough Jaffa cakes for all of us?" Harry said with enthusiasm.

"No. It'll do you good to share your Jaffa cakes, Harry Potter. You're getting thick around the middle, and you'll be no use to me at all in the bedroom. Now, would you like tea?"

Not knowing exactly what to say after that exchange, Remus and Ginny just nodded awkwardly. A few moments later, Luna returned carrying a tray full of tea paraphernalia. "We're having chamomile, rosehip and orange this afternoon. No Earl Gray in my house! My father discovered that Earl Gray is one of the leading causes of senility in the elderly."

Arranged now, with their tea and their pregnant pause, the group ploughed through afternoon tea like the chore it was. After the cups were empty, and Harry was forlornly looking at the crumbs left on the plate – all that was left of his Jaffa cakes – Ginny produced the briefcase from her bag.

"We have a problem, Harry." She said in a matter-of-fact tone. "We stole a few thousand quid by accident."

Harry frowned. "How do you steal 'a few thousand quid' by 'accident'?"

"Well, you could pick up your Wellingtons one day and find that someone's dropped a whole lot of cash in there, for one." Luna suggested. "Or, you could get the wrong parcel at the Post Office."

Remus interrupted, before Luna went through the whole catalogue of ways to steal money without actually realising it, and told Harry about their troubles up until they walked into his home. Harry listened politely, stroking his chin in a manner that suggested he was interested in the tale. "Well, you clearly have to give it back since the money isn't yours. But you can't give it back without being arrested. Perhaps you need someone to give it back for you?"

Ginny liked this idea. She leant forward and clutched Remus' arm. "Can we get someone big and scary looking to rough Janine up a bit, too? You know, to find out where she put your draft."

Remus looked acutely uncomfortable with the idea of assaulting a woman he barely knew anything about, but he also had a sinking feeling that he would be interviewing muscle-men in the next hour or so. "What do you think, Harry?"

Harry picked up his refreshed cup of tea and stirred it thoughtfully. "A few years ago I would have returned the suitcase myself – but I'm older and wiser now, and I'm not quite as full of teenage angst." Here he looked at his wife, who gave him a fond smile and went back to examining their cat for signs of tampering. "I suppose you could contact Neville…"

"Neville Longbottom?" Ginny asked with the slightest hint of incredulity. "Since when was he the go-to man when it comes to roughing people up? He was absolutely the sweetest boy at Hogwarts."

"Neville has – since Hogwarts – become quite intimidating to strangers and old women, who don't know that his muscular exterior hides a gentle and peaceful young man. I think your best course of action is to go visit him and ask him very nicely if he'll help you retrieve your lost manuscript."

Ginny looked at Remus for confirmation, and received it with his resigned nod. They thanked their hosts for the tea and help, and left the pair to their own devices.

"I like being boring, Luna." Harry said once they had left. He had put his hands through his hair to make it unruly once more, and was now in the process of removing his woollen vest for a t-shirt full of holes. "Being boring means I don't have to act like a hero any more just because I've got a stupid scar on my head." He grabbed his wife and plafully dragged her into his lap. "You are awfully clever, you know."

Luna shrugged, accepting the compliment without coyness. "The one you should really be thanking is Elvis."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Another chapter gone! Seven days until I'm in New Zealand. Tomorrow I'm watching over baby cockatiels to make sure they don't kill themselves by flying into the cage. I call it "baby cockatiel suicide watch". 


	6. Hour Six

**On the Twelfth Hour of Christmas…**

_(Hour 6)_

"So, what happened between you and Tonks?"

Ginny had been dying to ask the question all day, ever since Remus had knocked on her door and announced that their editor was rather peeved with them. The man being mildly interrogated looked decidedly uncomfortable, and shifted on the cell bench. "Well, we aren't together any more…"

She rolled her eyes and made a vaguely impatient gesture with her hand. "I realised _that_, Remus. Gosh, there isn't anyone who was even remotely connected with the Order who doesn't know you aren't together any more. But what actually _happened_?"

"We drifted apart. It happens."

Ginny raised an eyebrow, and then said in a singsong voice: "Real reason, please."

"I'm offended! What makes you think I wasn't telling the truth?"

She squinted at him. "Your upper left lip twitches a bit when you lie."

"It does not!"

"Look, there it goes again!"

Remus put a hand to his mouth, keeping his lip still. "All right. We didn't 'drift apart', although you and me being on the press junket for _Hearts of Steel_ certainly didn't help matters. When I settled back into life with Tonks I'd ask her to change her appearance sometimes and she was offended and started thinking I had feelings for someone – which I didn't, thank you very much. She didn't trust me any more, and we fought, and then we decided to end it before we became more miserable."

Ginny's face was arranged into an expression of sympathy. Remus did not expect her to react to his story like that. He had, in fact, envisioned pointing and laughing. The woman moved closer to him and gave him an awkward hug, which they made last for a full minute.

As she drew away, Ginny bit her lip, as if debating the merits of something in her pretty head. In an innocent voice, she asked, "So…what did you ask Tonks to look like?"

Remus did not justify her question with an answer.

**5.00PM**  
_Seven hours prior to the arrest_

The cafe had a sign outside saying "all day breakfast", a sign which had inspired enthusiasm within Ginny, and fear within Remus. They had found themselves a booth near the back of the restaurant and a waitress wearing the scent of stale grease and cigarette smoke like a perfume took their orders. The weather outside the glass of the window was turning foul, and Ginny watched the sea of people with detached, almost scientific, interest.

"I don't understand you, Miss Weasley."

The confession did not surprise her – most men who had entered her life had uttered the same phrase to her in one form or another – and yet Ginny felt almost hurt, it coming from Remus. She toyed with the heavy spoon she had yet to use in her tea, eyes locked on the curve of the metal. "Oh?"

"You confuse me. You're intelligent, entirely too insightful for your own good, stunning and capable. Why are you living in a stuffy house, in a bad neighbourhood, writing terrible novels with me?"

Ginny looked up, realising that his admission was less a declaration of defeat and more a challenge he was setting himself. "You think highly of me, Professor."

"I do." Remus shrugged. "I don't think I'll ever know what's going on in that head of yours, or comprehend the logic you use, but I'm going to try damn hard to find out."

She smiled at him, and he very nearly dropped his menu because it was the first smile she had bestowed on him that had not been toothy, or purposely goofy or even deliberately disarming. It was a bright, sincere smile, and it shook him to his very core.

Thankfully, the waitress had returned, bearing Ginny's large plate of food and a bowl of soup for Remus. He peered across at what his companion was intent on eating, and swallowed nervously. She had decided on eggs, bacon, chips and beans – in that order. The egg was a pale thing, all wobbly and sullen, hiding under a cove made of chips. Ginny's bacon appeared to have been made extra, extra crispy and just adding the weight of his gaze made it snap in half. The beans and chips had an alliance of sorts, with neither encroaching the other's territory, and the balance of soggy beans and dry chips remained.

"Are you going to eat all that?" He asked worriedly.

"Of course I am!" She replied, twirling her fork like a professional. "There's nothing wrong with a good eggs, bacon, chips and beans."

"There are quite a number of things wrong with it, Ginny."

"Shush you."

They had barely managed to take the first mouthful before a shadow fell upon their table. Carefully replacing the cutlery on to the plate, Ginny looked up. Neville Longbottom was standing in the aisle, effectively blocking it to both patrons and employees. Even though the weather was chilly (to say the least), Neville was wearing a skin-tight black shirt and a pair of jeans with no coat in sight. He was clenching and unclenching his fist as he stood there.

"Hello Neville!" Ginny said brightly. "Have a seat!"

Remus shifted immediately over so he was next to the window, pulling with him his soup and crackers. Neville sat down with much creaking and groaning from the leather seat. "Good afternoon, Ginny, Professor Lupin." He patted the older man on his shoulder, making him wince internally. "It's been an awfully long time since I last saw you, Ginny!"

Remus had decided that someone the dimensions of Neville and with as many bulging muscles as he now sported should not be talking so politely, or as intelligently.

She nodded in agreement. "I know, Neville. I'm afraid this meeting is only for business though." Ginny's face fell, and even Remus felt sad because of her expression, though after a second he realised that he was being rather manipulated, so he slurped his soup angrily. "We need you to run an errand for us."

"Oh? An errand? What sort of errand do you have that you need me to do it?" Neville asked curiously, turning a napkin continuously in his meaty hands. "It's not moving house, is it?"

"No, no, Neville." Ginny gave him a thousand-watt smile, replacing the napkin with her delicate hands. "We need you to scare someone for us."

His features clouded. "Oh, I don't know about that, Ginny. You know I like you – gosh, you even went out with me for a week! – but I don't want to get into trouble." His hands withdrew to his side of the table.

"Er, allow me?" Remus asked Ginny, who shrugged and brought a forkful of beans to her mouth. "A woman named Janine Gough bought my stolen briefcase, Mr. Longbottom. Miss Weasley and I retrieved the briefcase, only to discover that in the place of a very important document there was a great deal of money." He ripped open a packet of fake sugar and poured it into his tea. "What we need you -,"

"That stuff will kill you." Ginny interrupted, her right cheek bulging with food, like a squirrel. She swallowed her large mouthful. "It'll give you cancer."

"That's why I'm only using one packet of the fake sugar – or 'fugar', as I like to call it – and two packets of the real stuff." He replied acidly. "Anyway, Neville, what we need you to do is return the briefcase, with all the cash, and ask Janine very politely where my document is."

Neville nodded his understanding. Before he could ask a question, Ginny added: "And if she is not…forthcoming…with the information, feel free to shake the answer out of her."

The man looked conflicted. "Can I try not using violence? I'd really rather like to use non-violence."

Ginny rolled her eyes, but gave her permission. "I don't think it'll be nearly as effective, but as long as you get the draft back to us, I don't care." She nibbled on some of the bacon, and gave a loud, almost orgasmic sound. "Oh, god. Try some of this bacon, Remus."

"I don't like bacon."

"Eat it."

"Ginny, Professor Lupin said he didn't like bacon…"

Remus' objections were for naught, as Ginny had climbed on to the table so she was kneeling in front of him, trying to insert the bacon into his closed lips. "Eat the bacon. It's insanely delicious."

He glared at her. Very carefully, slowly and clearly, he said: "No-mph!"

Having used his protest to her advantage, Ginny slid back to her chair and cleaned her fingers on the serviette. "See? It was well worth me feeding you."

Remus had to agree that the bacon _was_ very delicious. He said nothing about the fact Ginny had just fed him using her fingers. Neville ordered himself some pie, which came piled high with ice cream and whipped cream and looked almost as bad for him as Ginny's meal. Ginny and Remus finished their tea and handed both Janine's business card, and the map Hermione had drawn to their employed muscle, and paid for their food. Outside it was bitterly cold, and Ginny found herself walking a half step behind Remus so that he sheltered her from most of the snow.

"What do we do now?" He asked her, trying to ignore the fact Ginny looked like she should be in snow always, with the wind teasing and threading her hair with snowflakes. He had his hands deep within his pockets, but had nothing interesting in them other than some lint and a dead lighter.

"I think we should go ice skating!" Ginny told him excitedly.

"I don't know any ice skating rinks, or any frozen lakes for that matter."

"Oh. True." She scrunched her face up in thought. "Feel like getting really drunk?"

The part of him that was a teacher, would always be a teacher, said that getting drunk with a former student was a terrible idea. However, the part of him that was cold and tired and somewhat depressed and just a _little_ bit shorter than the other part of him said that getting drunk with Ginny was a fantastic idea. So he said yes.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Oh man, I almost forgot to post this (I was having impromptu rice pudding which may, in fact, be the best sort of rice pudding there is), but here I am to save the day. Thanks for people who are reviewing and what not. You are the ones who are ensuring I don't have a tantrum and storm off Reviewers ftw! 


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